Moonlit City Paris
by ChibiStarr
Summary: Paris, wine, and sitting on the roof of Notre Dame... romantic, right? FrancexSpain fluff. Giftfic.


**A/N: Before you rag on my for my supremely lame title, it's taken from the song that I had on loop while I was typing this, called "Moonlit City Roa" by Yoko Shimomura.**

**A little birthday present for one of my awesome DA friends, who asked me for some France/Spain fluff ^_^ Of course I didn't get much time to write it, hence the shortness, but I loved every single moment of it XD I'm now calling this pairing Tomato Wine. Yeeesssss.**

**I've always liked this pairing, since I can see these two just being so chill with each other, very relaxed and casual. An they're both sweet saps so it fits XD I honestly think my favorite part was the info I had to look up, the gratuitous French and Spanish phrases and finding out what beignets were, which I really want to freaking try now.**

**Happy 19th Birthday Sammy~! Hope it's awesome!**

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Flowers and rain. That's what the air smelled like. Flowers and rain and the hint of something musty, like old stone that had long been damp. It was a little puzzling, since something this high shouldn't have been this wet, because it got so much sunlight during the day, but that was just an oddity that wasn't very important at the moment. Notre Dame was centuries old and had seen centuries of rain, so naturally the place would be a little damp.

Paris lay stretched out below them, the Seine sparkling like a river of stars from all of the lights in the city. France knew that there was music playing and people going to and fro like birds flitting from tree to tree in a park, but from the roofs of Notre Dame the city was utterly silent. It just looked so _peaceful _from this high, and the soft golden light were making his already fuddled mind soft and sleepy. His eyes were lidded and his chin rested on his hand while he held a glass of wine in the other. His legs dangled over the ground that was hundreds of feet below him; it had been silly Spain's idea to sit right on top of the stone railing instead of behind it like normal people, and in his already not-sober state France had agreed to it.

"Don't fall asleep, _mi amigo, _you could take a tumble," Antonio's amused voice chuckled right next to his ear, warm and soft. A strong hand grasped him by the shoulder as if ready to pull him back in case he pitched forward.

France chuckled as well, turning a little so that he could view his friend from the corner of his eye. "You are sweet, _cher, _but I will not fall," he said. He sipped from his glass after he said this and by now the alcohol taste had faded and the liquid was just sweet. Ever so sweet, like fresh grapes and as warm as bottled sunshine. The warmth curled in his stomach and raced in his blood, sending tingles from his head to his toes, making everything almost dreamlike and hazy. "I have been up here far too many times for me to slip and fall now," he went on, smiling lopsidedly.

Spain hummed a little, swirling his wine in his glass and looking at the city through the red-tinted lens. "Does it always look like this?" he asked, leaning over until he was resting against Francis's shoulder. His soft, contented expression made him look like a well-fed cat. "Paris… it looks so wonderful at night, with the moon overhead and the lights below. It's like the stars are below us instead of above, and the world has been flipped upside down."

The blond chuckled again, only paying partly attention to Antonio's rambling alcohol-induced prose. "Sometimes it does," he said distantly. He took another sip of his wine and felt the words falling freely from his lips like a spring rain. "When this cathedral was built there were no lights in Paris, and it loomed over the city. It was very menacing, as if God's judging eye was always upon you. Then it turned into a place of refuge and I would come up here to look upon my city… it made me feel like its protector in some odd sort of way." He paused then, his memories coming back to him. "But _non, _I have seen Paris at its best and Paris at its worst. I have seen the moon clouded over with smoke from fires and guns, and I have seen the streets awash with blood. Instead of this silence I have heard the tramp of boots and the cries of '_Ah! ça ira,' _from the citizens." He was silent after that, remembering the bloodshed and the terrible, agonizing pain that he had been in as he felt his own people killing each other. He drained his glass in a few quick gulps, wanting to forget.

Antonio looked as if he was thinking over something, his fingers drawing absentminded circles into his glass. "Th's the past," he mumbled out finally. "…Francis, what if the world was actually upside down?"

Francis blinked a few times, the sudden question pulling him out of his melancholy thoughts. "What?" he asked, giving him friend a puzzled look.

"The world. Upside down," Spain repeated carefully. He waved vaguely at the ground. "Lookit all the lights… I said that it looked like all the stars were down instead of up." A silly little grin came over his face and he actually _giggled. _"Your city has all the stars, Francis. They caught all the golden stars out of the sky. What if the world was upside down the sky was actually the ground?"

"Then we would be falling right through the sky," Francis replied, smiling and laughing at his friend's musings. He reached up and ran his hand through those thick locks of hair, loving how smooth it was. "We would be falling for years and then we would land on the moon."

"_La luna_…" Antonio repeated, snuggling into the hand. "That sounds like a wonderful place to sit and drink…" He grabbed the half-filled bottle of wine that was behind them and started to pour some into his glass, his hand wobbling slightly. "We could see all the lights on the world then."

"We could," Francis agreed, holding out his own glass for a refill. "But we could not see them up close like this. We couldn't enjoy the fresh Paris breeze or admire the Seine. And there are no bakeries on the moon; we couldn't enjoy those little beignets that you love so much."

Spain mumbled something in Spanish that was too quiet for Francis to detect and he gulped his wine. Half of it was gone in a few seconds and he stared at it contemplatively. "You know what, Francis?" he asked suddenly.

"What?" Francis said.

"They should make a tomato wine."

Francis nearly choked. He sputtered a few times which turned into a coughing fit and Antonio pounded on his back. "What?" the blond repeated, glancing incredulously at his friend. "A wine made out of _tomatoes? _Bah, you're drunk, Antonio."

"No, think about it!" Spain insisted excitedly, pillowing his head into Francis's shoulder and waving his free hand about absently. "I really like tomatoes and you really like wine, so if there was a wine made out of tomatoes then we would both love it! I would drink it all the time, I bet, and so would you…"

France laughed fondly, pulling his neighbor closer to him. "You are nuts, _mon cher," _he said, the smile on his face wide and loving as he ran his fingers through Antonio's hair again. It really was quite soft. "Absolutely nuts. I think tomatoes have turned your brain into mush."

"I think your wine is more to blame for that," Antonio replied, lifting his head and reaching his hand up to cup his jaw. Francis immediately took the hint and leaned in to kiss him. The Spaniard was soft and warm and he tasted like wine, but it was a thousand times better as his own taste was mixed in and his made Francis's heart leap into his throat. God, that taste was intoxicating, if he could somehow bottle the taste of Antonio and wine together then he might never eat or drink anything ever again, he would live off of that for the rest of his days.

When they separated there was barely a breath of space between them, and he could still feel the heat coming off of Antonio. He was still close enough to smell him, which was that odd mix of tomatoes and gardening that he loved, all with the faint whiff of wine. "Well then, you should thank me, hmm?" Francis asked, holding up his glass.

Antonio's eyes flickered down, and then he smiled, wide and cheerful. "_Gracias, querido mío," _he said smoothly before raising his own glass and clinking them together. And they drank on the top of Notre Dame, with only themselves and the lights to keep each other company.


End file.
